Because He Was Hers
by bingblot
Summary: A sort of post post-ep to 2x14, "The Third Man." Castle makes the list as one of New York Ledger's Most Eligible Bachelors again when he and Beckett are together. A fun, fluffy, smutty mid-Season 5 one-shot.


Disclaimer: All things and people you recognize belong to Andrew Marlowe and the other powers that be over at ABC.

Author's Note: After re-watching 2x14 "The Third Man," I had the idea to write a fun little fic about Esposito and Ryan giving Castle and Beckett a hard time about the Most Eligible Bachelor list when Castle and Beckett are actually together. And then, well, the Beckett that's moved into my head decided she wanted a detour into the supply closet and I decided it wasn't smart to argue with a character that carried a gun. So, um, yeah, fluffy mid-Season 5 Caskett fluff and smut, complete with some jealous!Beckett, to tide you over on this Castle-less Monday.

**Because He Was Hers**

Kate Beckett just knew that it was going to be one of those days when she went to get the newspaper and saw Castle's familiar smirking face grinning up at her just above the fold under the banner headline proclaiming it the New York Ledger's Annual Most Eligible Bachelors List.

She couldn't quite decide if she were irritated or amused at the fact that her (albeit mostly secret) boyfriend/lover (oh God, Rick Castle was her boyfriend) had been anointed as an eligible bachelor. Again. But then she couldn't help but grin a little, feeling a little curl of possessiveness and sheer joy inside her as she looked at his picture. Small as it was, it was a fairly good one of him, if only because he was wearing that shirt, the one where the blue exactly mirrored his eyes to an uncanny extent—not that it was apparent from the picture itself. (If the makers of that cloth had deliberately set out to make a shirt that was "Castle-blue" as she thought of it, they couldn't possibly have succeeded any better. She'd long ago decided that "Castle-blue" was her new favorite color, although she wouldn't tell him that.) And the sight of him in that shirt never failed to do funny things to her insides.

And now, he was hers.

She grinned again at the picture. Okay, so maybe it wouldn't turn out to be a bad day after all.

She brought the paper back to the counter, perching on one of the stools as she skimmed the blurb about him.

_And last but certainly not least, rounding out our list of the Top Ten Most Eligible Bachelors List is New York City's favorite Master of the Macabre, best-selling mystery novelist Richard Castle. Mr. Castle is a perennial contender for this list and, after all, ladies, why wouldn't he be? He's handsome, he's charming, he's rich, and we have heard from a few lucky little birds that he's also quite the gallant, with a heart of gold to go along with his smooth charm. What's more, like any Prince Charming should be, he is also brave as he spends many of his days working alongside New York's Finest, shadowing the inspiration for his popular Nikki Heat series, NYPD Detective Kate Beckett. Mr. Castle himself has been somewhat absent from the City's social scene of late but the man himself assured the world that he was still single—and available—when he appeared on Kristina Cottera's show in the fall. Since then, he has been kept busy with his work consulting for the NYPD and working on his latest novels in the Nikki Heat and the new Derrick Storm series. So, to the women of the City who would love to capture this elusive Eligible Bachelor, we at the Ledger will only say, may the best woman win. _

Kate wavered, again, between irritation and amusement at this description of Castle. Irritation at the mention of Kristina Cottera—top-heavy, bikini-wearing predator that she was—and irritation at the Ledger's essentially declaring it open season on Castle-hunting. And amusement at the description of Castle, although she was rather pleasantly surprised that the Ledger had thought to mention Castle's "heart of gold" along with the shallow attributes of his looks, charm, and money.

Damn. Castle was going to be insufferable today with that sycophantic blurb to bolster his already-healthy ego.

She heard the shower stop and then a little while later, the man himself appeared, padding out of his bedroom, mostly dressed, although his shirt was still untucked, his hair damp from his shower.

"Good morning," he mumbled, rubbing a hand down his face in one of those endearingly youthful gestures of his.

Her irritation vanished like mist in the sunshine at the sight of him because he was, well, kind of adorable in the mornings before he had his coffee, lingering drowsiness still clouding his features, slowing his movements. Oh, this man, this dear, wonderful, irritating, loving, generous man. She had one of her moments of utter amazement that she was here, now, that she got to see him like this almost every morning, that she slept beside him in his bed, that she knew his scent and his touch and his taste.

Emotion suddenly welled up inside her, filling her with so much love for this man she felt her throat closing. And she suddenly wanted to flatten herself against him, wrap her arms around him and hold him as if she'd never let him go again. Castle. _Her_ Castle.

Instead, she poured him a fresh cup of coffee, preparing it the way he liked it, and then handed it to him. _Good morning, my love. _

"Mm, thanks," he mumbled, dropping an absent kiss on her hair as he settled beside her. And she kind of loved that too, that they had reached the point in their relationship that he could kiss her so casually, unthinkingly. Funny, she never would have thought that an absent-minded gesture of affection could be so… romantic… but there it was. (God, she was turning into such a sap. She tried to muster up some annoyance at it but really couldn't. She just… loved him… and after so many months and years of denial and waiting and holding back, surely she was entitled to wallow in her surrender a little, savor the fact that finally, finally, she was his and he was hers.)

Silently, she slid the Ledger over so he could see it and then waited.

It took a second—he hadn't finished his coffee after all—but then she felt his hand on her back tense a little and he burst out laughing. "I made the list! I just missed it last year—I think I landed at #12 or something; Donna Vincennes, the reporter, even called me to apologize for it—and my mother didn't let me hear the end of it for a week. Ha, back in the Top 10. Now that's what I'm talking about!"

She narrowed her eyes at him.

And he felt it, turned to look at her, dismay wiping out any glee from his expression. "Wait, no, Beckett, this—you're not upset, are you—this doesn't—I mean, when they called to interview for it, I had to—I couldn't tell them about us because of Gates and all—" he stammered.

She bit the inside of her lip to prevent her laugh from escaping. "Me, upset? Why would I be upset? What woman wouldn't be thrilled to have her boyfriend named as one of the City's Most Eligible Bachelors?"

"I—uh—wait, Beckett, did you just call me your boyfriend?" Damn it, his smirk was back, just the hint of it curling the edges of his lips.

And she couldn't help it. She laughed, slipping her hand into his back pants pocket to tug him closer to her, deliberately letting her fingers curl into his delectable butt, and rose up on her toes to whisper into his ear, "I don't care what the paper says, as long as you remember that you're mine."

He grinned against her cheek, dipping his head to kiss the sensitive skin just below her ear lobe. "Oh, I'm yours, Kate, definitely all yours."

She felt a small shiver go through her at the touch of his lips and at the low, smoky tone of his voice. He knew exactly what it did to her when he kissed her there, on that spot just beneath her ear, and when his voice lowered into that husky register that seemed to sizzle right along her nerve endings.

She forced herself to let him go, pulling away from him, and ignoring his little pout as best she could. "Work, Castle," she said more breathlessly than she would have liked. "I need to go to work."

"Right, work," he agreed, looking and sounding rather like a disgruntled boy. "I'll… pick up our coffees and see you at the precinct."

She gave in to impulse and kissed him quickly on the mouth. "See you later, Castle." And then dodged away from the arm he tried to slide around her waist with a small laugh. "Not now, Castle."

She slipped into one of the several pairs of work heels that had taken up permanent residence at the loft and her coat and left the loft with a rather silly smile on her face. Rick Castle was hers, let the Ledger say whatever it wanted to.

Her mood took a turn for the worse when she arrived at the precinct to see that her desk was covered with newspapers. Or more accurately, covered with copies of that morning's NY Ledger. A dozen Castles grinned up at her from the papers, each of them with the blurb helpfully highlighted.

She shot a narrow-eyed glare at Esposito and Ryan, who grinned innocently back.

"Anything interesting in the paper this morning, Beckett?" Ryan quipped.

"You're not funny, you know that, right?" she told them as she unceremoniously gathered up all the papers and dumped them into recycling.

"Oh, I don't know. You seem a little irritable this morning, Beckett," Espo said with mock concern.

She shot another look at them both and deliberately ignored them as she booted up her computer and checked her emails.

But of course her ignoring them ended—predictably—the moment Castle got off the elevator. There was a brief burst of applause and even a whistle or two—she shot another look at Espo and Ryan, who had of course, instigated it all with the rest of the division, since no one else knew about her and Castle.

Espo and Ryan both joined Castle as he reached her desk, handing her her coffee.

"Well, well, well," Espo drawled, "if it isn't the man of the hour, Mr. Eligible Bachelor # 10 himself."

"So, Castle, you on the market?" Ryan asked teasingly. "Because I've got a cousin who wants your number," he added deliberately.

Castle forced a small laugh, shooting a glance around at the other cops and then at Gates in her office. "No, that's all right. I think I can take care of finding my own dates, thanks."

He was rather adorable in his flustered state and she smothered a smile—a smile that vanished, any amusement gone, as he nervously shifted his coffee from one hand to the other and she saw—

She grabbed for his coffee. "Is that—did someone write her number on your coffee cup?" she demanded. Entirely unnecessarily as the number and the name on the cup rather obviously answered that question, a very feminine scrawl reading "Tiffany" with—of all things—a small heart to dot the 'i' along with a phone number.

Espo snickered.

"I—uh—I didn't ask for it. It was just… there… when I went to pick up our order," Castle blurted out hurriedly.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Who is this Tiffany? Did you see?"

He shifted a little. "It was at our usual coffee place. That girl behind the counter who always wears the really—" he abruptly broke off, looking even more uncomfortable if that were possible.

Oh, right, that girl. Now she knew who Castle was talking about. There was one girl who worked at their usual coffee place who was very… busty… and always wore extremely low-cut, tight-fitting tops below the coffee shop apron and then made a point of leaning over the counter whenever she gave any reasonably good-looking males their orders. Beckett had seen grown men in business suits almost trip over their own feet after one of those displays. Hmph.

She shot a narrow-eyed glare at the offending coffee cup and then abruptly pushed her own—undecorated—cup away. "You know what, Castle," she announced, "I think I'd rather have a cup from the machine here." She let him see the tiniest curve of her lips as reassurance. "Will you get me one?"

He relaxed and returned her smile. "Of course. Be right back."

Her phone rang and she answered it with a sense of relief. "Beckett."

She listened and then hung up. "Castle," she called.

He stopped halfway to the break room. "Yeah?"

"We'll have to take a rain check on that coffee. A body just dropped."

"Right. Of course," he agreed, returning to her side and taking her coat from her hands and holding it up for her to slip into with almost exaggerated care. She suppressed a smile. She supposed it was bad of her to be rather enjoying this—he was so… cute… when he was nervous like this and, although she could really have done without Espo and Ryan tag-teaming to give her and Castle a hard time, she couldn't help but feel a little smug at the thought that he was hers now and she also kind of loved that she could just laugh over this, secure in the knowledge that he loved her and she trusted him.

Seeing the body effectively distracted her from the triviality of the Ledger but then, the neighbor who might or might not have witnessed the killer running away brought it all back.

The girl—woman—Kate could think of other less-flattering terms but she bit them back—was dressed, sort-of, in an exercise bra and leggings. And while Kate went through the usual questions, the girl cooperated, answered all the questions, but she addressed her answers to Castle, barely sparing Kate a glance.

The witness lounged against the door frame, thrusting out one hip, to say nothing of her bosom. Like the prow of a ship, Kate thought disgustedly.

"Well, thank you very much for answering our questions," Beckett said in her most coolly professional tone.

"Oh, it was no trouble," the witness positively cooed—at Castle, of course. "Always a pleasure to help out the NYPD and their consultants." Good lord, how did the woman manage to make the word 'consultants' sound obscene? "Let me know if there's anything—_anything_—I can do to help in your investigation." The woman aimed a sultry smile in Castle's direction, who kept his gaze directed carefully at the woman's forehead, though he did give the woman a small smile.

Kate reached out and tugged on Castle's elbow. "Thank you again," she clipped out and then walked—oh, fine, stalked—away, keeping her hand on Castle's elbow.

"Did you enjoy that?" she snapped.

Castle shot her a horrified look. "What—no!" He grimaced. "I prefer my women less… shark-like."

She laughed in spite of herself and felt suddenly guilty for snapping at him. It was hardly his fault and she knew—_knew_—he hadn't meant anything by returning the woman's smile. He smiled back at people; it was an automatic response on his part and meant nothing. She knew his smiles and that had been the impersonal one he used at his book signings. Bother. She was being ridiculous. But seeing the blatancy of the woman's flirting with Castle had gotten under her skin and she hadn't been able to help the admittedly-irrational thought that had flared through her mind when she'd seen Castle return the woman's smile—his smile was hers too. She didn't want any other woman to see his smile, not his real, warm smile that lit up his eyes, the one that made her feel as bathed in warmth as if the sun were shining directly down on her. (She'd been spending too much time with a certain writer—and was really disgustingly in love—if she'd started thinking in poetry.) She didn't want any other woman to see his tender smile, the one she only ever saw him use with her or with Alexis and sometimes with his mother, the one that showed all the love he was capable of. She didn't even want any other woman to see his teasing smiles, the ones edging into a smirk, the ones that lit up his eyes with that boyish glee that was so much a part of him, the ones that usually made her either want to hit him or kiss him and sometimes both at the same time. She loved his smiles and his smiles were hers too.

"Your _women_, Castle?" she teased him instead. "In the plural?"

"No!" he blurted out. "Woman, in the singular. Definitely the singular. Just one woman," he clarified in a rush. And then, after a quick glance around, he slid his arm around her waist, tugging her in closer so he could whisper in her ear, "You're the only woman in the world for me, Kate Beckett."

She softened, smiling at him. "Good boy. That was definitely the right answer."

"It's 'good _man_,' thank you very much, Beckett," he quipped, smirking at her, his usual insouciance restored. "Or do you need me to prove to you how much of a man I am?"

She grinned. "Maybe later, writer boy."

Her phone buzzed, distracting her, and she pulled it out, frowning as she saw that it was a text from Alexis.

Alexis? Why on earth would Alexis be texting her?

She quickly pulled up her text messages to read the one from Alexis. _Tell Mr. Eligible Bachelor that he shouldn't visit me at my dorm for at least a week. The other girls in my hall saw the Ledger and have decided he's hot. _

She laughed. "Hey, Castle, I just got a message from Alexis you might want to see."

He straightened, his expression immediately sobering. "From Alexis? What is it? Is something wrong?"

She silently handed him her phone, letting him read the message.

He made a face. "Oh no, she's pissed at me now."

"I can't imagine why…" she said rather sarcastically.

"Hey, it's not like I asked to be put on the list!"

"Says the man who celebrated when he saw that he'd made it into the Top 10 again," she reminded him.

He shrugged a little, his smirk back. "It's not my fault if women find me irresistible, Beckett."

She rolled her eyes. "Funny, you never remember that vanity isn't an attractive quality," she retorted.

They went to the ME's office to check in with Lanie, who (thank goodness for best friends) only pinned Castle with one of her looks and said, "You'd better not be enjoying all the attention too much, Castle."

Castle—drat the man—smirked. "I have all the female attention I want, thanks, Lanie," he returned with a not-at-all-subtle look and then caught Kate's hand in his, giving it a small squeeze. Kate tried to hide her smile but Lanie's expression told her she failed.

She got a text message from Madison. _You owe me big-time Becks for not telling anyone that my friend is dating Eligible Bachelor #10. Do you know the kind of mileage I could get out of that gossip? _(No, she didn't but Kate could guess. When she'd finally told Maddie about Castle the last time they'd met up, Maddie's shriek had nearly made her ears ring.)

The day didn't improve when they returned to the precinct, spending the day going through the victim's phone records and his financials, piecing together the timeline of his last day. Interspersed with both Ryan and Espo making a point of handing Castle little slips of paper with supposed phone numbers written on them and messages like "Morena from Vice asked me to give you her number" or "Sanchez from the Organized Crime unit wants you to call her." They were doing it to mess with her, she knew that, since the names were wrong—Morena worked in Burglary, not in Vice, Sanchez was a CSU tech—and giving out random strings of numbers, not actual ones. She would have known it even if she hadn't recognized their handwriting on the slips of paper. Beckett made a mental note to send them both dumpster diving in their next case.

Castle knew what they were doing and laughed it off, throwing out each slip of paper. She would have laughed herself but by the 7th such note, her amusement had died and been replaced by irritation.

She'd never been all that possessive before—she'd known some of the nurses flirted with Josh but she hadn't cared—but when it came to Castle, she really was. Maybe she always had been where Castle was concerned—how annoyed had she been at Natalie Rhodes for coming on to Castle the way she had, how much had she disliked Serena Kaye—but now, it was worse. So much worse because now she knew, knew what it was like to kiss him, to touch him, to have him touch her. Now, he was hers and she was his. And while she trusted him, a small part of her—the part that had been so afraid of giving in to him for so long—was still a little… afraid or uncertain or something. He was Richard Castle—famous, rich, handsome, charming—he could have any woman he wanted, she knew that even without the Ledger making it more than clear—and what if, after all this, now that she was finally his, he realized that she wasn't enough? Realized that he wanted more, wanted someone better than the real, damaged, vulnerable person she was? That he wanted someone who was more open, who didn't come with all the emotional baggage that she came with? She told herself and told herself that she was being silly and irrational but it really didn't help to have evidence of other women's interest in him being flung in her face.

But she was fine, really fine. It was just the boys messing with her and Castle, that was all.

But then McKinnon, one of the uniforms that had just started in Homicide after a couple years in Vice, stopped by to drop off another file they'd requested—and at the same time, slid a small slip of paper over towards Castle, who was for the moment oblivious, frowning over the victim's phone records.

Beckett grabbed for the paper, unfolding it.

_Karen. Call me. _Followed by a phone number.

Oddly, her first thought was that she hadn't even known that McKinnon's first name was Karen. And then she realized just what she was holding and dropped the note as if it were on fire.

Officer McKinnon. Another female cop had left a note with her phone number on it for Castle. And Beckett had been right there! Really, McKinnon's nerve to leave a note like that for Castle right in front of her eyes! So what if McKinnon didn't know about her and Castle's real relationship; he was still her partner!

Okay, so she really wasn't fine with all this. She stood up so abruptly her chair almost toppled over. "Castle, come with me."

He started a little but stood up, as always. "Sure. Did you just think of a new lead to chase?" he asked.

She carefully kept her walk to a normal pace, aware of Castle following beside her. "Hey, Beckett, wanna tell me where we're going?"

She didn't answer him, only continued on until they were in the hall—thankfully empty for once—before grabbing Castle's wrist and pulling him with her into the supply closet.

"What—Beckett—" he began but that was all he managed to get out as she pushed him back against the shelves, her hands on his chest, and kissed him. Kissed him as if the world had suddenly become a vacuum and he was the last remaining source of oxygen in it, kissed him as if she was dying and his lips, his tongue, were the only things that could save her.

For a second, he was too stunned to respond, his hands frozen on her waist, but then he kissed her back, his mouth hot and urgent against hers. And oh God, she loved kissing him. She'd known she loved kissing him since the first time they'd kissed and she really could not believe she'd gone more than a year after their first kiss to kiss him again. Now, she thought a year without kissing Castle sounded like torture—for that matter, she didn't think she ever wanted to go another _day_ without kissing Castle.

She clutched him to her with frantic desperation, her hands groping his chest, his shoulders, his back, as she almost writhed against him, trying to push herself closer, always closer, and never close enough, to him. She wanted to feel him, needed to feel him against her. He was hers, he was hers and she was his, and she never wanted to be without him again.

He felt the same urgency, she could feel it in the hardness of his hands as he flattened them over her breasts, kneaded them through her bra and her shirt. She could hear it in his broken gasps for breath against her ear, feel it in the haphazard way his lips and tongue scattered kisses along her chin and down her neck, nudging aside the collar of her shirt. Felt it in the total lack of any of his usual finesse as he touched her.

Her hands were almost rough, impatient, as they slid down his body to cup him through his pants, loving the way he instantly hardened at her touch.

He broke off the frantic kiss, jerking his head away on a groan. "Beck—kett," he rasped, the two syllables of her name somewhat broken as she pressed her lips to the side of his neck, nudging aside the collar of his shirt, and then darting her tongue out to taste his skin. "Oh God, Beckett, you—are we really going to—" he managed to stutter.

She succeeded in undoing his belt and his pants, impatiently pushed them down enough to slide her hand into his boxers, finding him, and whatever words he might have been about to say were lost as he hissed out his breath, his hips jerking.

She sensed—felt—what little resistance he had, born mostly out of sheer shock that she had initiated this, that they were really doing this—collapse into rubble. It was his turn for his hands to be equally impatient, making quick work of the fastenings of her own slacks, roughly pushing them down, his fingers working their way into her panties, and finding the core of her.

She gasped and then moaned at the touch of his skillful fingers on her. "Castle… God, yes…"

She pushed herself against him, her arms almost wild as they wrapped around him. God, she wanted him, always wanted him. Wanted to crawl inside him and stay there, wanted him inside her, so close she could no longer tell where she ended and he began. Possessiveness and lust were swirling around inside her in a maelstrom of emotion and physical sensation. _Yes yes yes_ and _Castle, Castle, Castle_ roaring in her mind in an alternating mantra of need and want and love, always love.

She curled her fingers around him and stroked him once, twice, until he groaned and grabbed her wrist with one hand, pulling her hand away from him.

She had a fleeting moment of clarity—_they were having a quickie in the precinct supply closet_—and then his fingers swirled over the wet, aching center of her and her brain spluttered to a halt, all ability to think leaving her in a rush.

His hands grasped her hips, lifting her, tilting her just slightly—oh God, one benefit of wearing her heels—and then he was inside her, filling her—_oh God oh God oh God oh yes oh Castle_—and it was hard and fast and messy and glorious. She bit her lip to hold back a scream as she shattered, fracturing around him, and then he was exploding inside her in turn, burying his face in her throat, her name escaping his lips in a muffled, tattered groan. "Beckett…"

Her legs felt rubbery, weak, and she collapsed against him, feeling him sagging back against the shelves. She let her head fall forward, burying her face against his neck, the collar of his shirt, as she tried to catch her breath, tried to recover the splintered pieces of her mind.

She could feel his heart drumming inside his chest, could hear his gasps for breath just above her ear.

Her aural memory replayed the sound of his voice, harsh and roughened with need, as he'd come. "Beckett…" She felt a small, reactive shiver go through her at the memory. He almost always called her "Kate" when they were together like this; she wasn't sure she could remember the last time he'd used "Beckett" during sex but it sounded unexpectedly hot, something about the way his voice had lowered, drawing out and emphasizing the 'k' and the 't' in her last name, blurring the two syllables together, making it sound… primal… raw…

_Oh lord. They had really just had a quickie in the supply closet. _

She felt a bubble of rather hysterical laughter rising in her chest and swallowed it back. She suddenly felt almost… giddy… joy and happiness thrumming along her veins in addition to the lingering physical satisfaction. She had just had a quickie in the supply closet with New York's Most Eligible Bachelor Number 10. That was one way to stake a claim, she thought rather fuzzily, and found herself grinning against his neck. He was hers. Rick Castle was _hers_. It was in the way he touched her, in the way she could make him lose all control, in the way he reached out for her in his sleep, in the way he was still holding her now.

She vaguely heard him gasp something that sounded like, "Number seventeen."

Number seventeen? What?

"Number seventeen?" she repeated, a little surprised that she managed to make her voice work. "What does that mean?"

"I… uh…"

She frowned, some more coherence returning to her brain along with the niggling unease at his stuttering. "Castle, are you—you're not making some sort of ranking for every time we have sex, are you?"

"No!" He sounded sufficiently shocked and dismayed that she relaxed, turning her head to press her lips to the underside of his chin, breathing in the so-familiar scent of him. "Good lord, no," he said again and then added in a muttered aside that she suspected he didn't entirely intend for her to hear, "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't possibly."

And somehow she knew what he meant, that every time with her, every time for them, was amazing, that he could never rank them. She felt herself blush—because, yeah, he was so right about that.

She sternly corralled her mind back from where it had wandered, returning to the question she'd asked him. "Then what does Number seventeen mean?"

"It's… uh… it's what this supply closet is on my list of places where I've fantasized about having sex with you," he blurted out in a rush.

Wait. What?

"It's—what? _Seventeen_? How long is this list?" Seventeen? Seriously?

He huffed out a soft laugh. "I don't think you want to know. Suffice to say, it's long. I've probably fantasized about us in every identifiable place we've ever been and some places we've never been."

"Seriously, Castle?"

"My bed, your bed, my shower, my bed in the Hamptons, on the beach, in your car, in the interrogation room, in the break r—"

"Okay, Castle, I get the idea," she cut him off, feeling herself blushing hotly—ridiculously, given what they'd just been doing and the fact that they were both still half-naked below the waist.

She felt him lower his head to whisper hotly in her ear, "In the bathroom stall where you read page 105 of _Heat Wave_."

She choked on a laugh, muffling it against his shirt, amazed all over again at this proof that, when it came to her, Castle really did not forget anything. And seriously? He had fantasized about her, about _them_, there?

Abruptly, she suddenly remembered what she'd done when she'd returned home that night, what she'd done after she'd reread that part of _Heat Wave_. Oh. _Oh God._ She couldn't decide if she were more aroused or embarrassed or thrilled or mortified or… or…

"Beckett? Not that I'm complaining or anything—in fact, feel free to repeat this little scene many, many times—but what exactly brought this on?"

She felt herself flush—again. "I—uh—Officer McKinnon tried to give you her phone number," she muttered reluctantly.

He let out a crack of delighted laughter and she almost cringed. Damn it. Served her right for overreacting and acting on an irrational, stupid impulse. "You're jealous!"

She narrowed her eyes at him, even though in the dark of the supply closet she knew he couldn't see her, only hoped he would somehow sense the heat of her glare. "Castle, don't…" she began.

She felt him shifting closer to her, his head lowering, his lips ghosting across her temple, her cheek, the corner of her lips. "Kate," he said softly into her ear, "I'm yours, you know that, right? All yours. Always."

She sighed a little, relaxing against him. God, how was she even supposed to stay irritated with him? And damn him, he knew exactly what it did to her when he used that low, smoky tone and whispered in her ear. He was hers, she couldn't doubt that now. "And I'm yours, Rick."

He turned his head, nudging her cheek with his nose, and she turned her head in automatic response, let his lips find and settle over hers, kissing her softly this time, with the gentleness that never failed to catch at her heart. And she kissed him back equally softly, her lips lightly molding themselves against his, sharing her breath with him. _I love you. I love you. I love you. _The words echoed in her mind with every brush of her lips against his and in these moments, she couldn't be sure whether they were more a reflection of her own heart or of his or maybe the reflection of both their minds together, both of them thinking the same thing as happened so often with them.

She could have stayed like this, kissing him, forever, but after a little while, she drew back, her mind returning to the reality of where they were. And then wanted to laugh at herself—oh God, not just a quickie in the supply closet but then a romantic moment too.

She drew back from him with a little sigh. "We need to get back to work."

"Do we have to?"

"We have a case, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he grumbled and she could _hear_ the pout in his voice. And abruptly wanted to kiss the pout off his lips.

Damn it. Not helping.

She used a tissue in her pocket—lucky find—to clean herself up a little before she got her clothes back in order. She could hear the soft noises that told her he was doing much the same thing and sternly ignored the part of her that wanted to "help" him.

"I'm going to go to the restroom to… put myself together again," she said. "Don't follow me out immediately. In fact, maybe you should go out, bring us back coffees and a snack or something, to explain your disappearance."

"Right."

"Just don't go to our usual coffee place," she added, remembering Tiffany. "And Castle, if you dare let one of your 'I just got laid' smirks slip so the boys see, I will shoot you."

"Understood, Detective."

He was smirking. She could _hear_ his smirk in his voice and was torn between irritation and wanting to kiss the smirk off his lips. Damn annoying sexy man.

"Shut up, Castle." She grimaced. "As far as we're concerned, the moment I leave this room, this never happened. Got it?"

"It's a supply closet, not a room, but yes, I understand. This didn't happen—at least, not while we're at the precinct. Tonight, on the other hand…"

She flushed again at his tone. "I'm leaving now."

Kate slipped out of the closet with as much stealth as she could muster, thanking whatever higher powers there might be that the hallway was empty, and headed straight for the restroom—also thankfully empty. She studied herself in the mirror and grimaced a little. Her previously neatly-pressed shirt was now a mess, her collar skewed, and she just knew she was going to need to wear a scarf or a turtleneck tomorrow. She wet a paper towel and pressed it against her swollen—and smiling—lips. _God._ She'd dragged Castle into the supply closet—number 17 on his list and he had that long of a list of places where he'd fantasized about her, really?—to have sex. He was never _ever_ going to let her forget about this.

It was a few minutes before she thought she looked presentable enough to return to the conference room, her shirt once again neatly tucked in and her collar as straight as she could make it.

"Hey, Beckett, where'd you and Castle go off to?" Espo asked.

She busied herself with the latest file they'd received, the one McKinnon had dropped off, not meeting Esposito's eyes. "I sent him off to get fresh coffee," she managed to say calmly.

"You both needed to leave the room for you to do that?"

She thought fast. "Oh, I also had a message from Alexis to pass on to him."

Thankfully, Espo accepted that and returned to the financial records he was looking at.

Castle returned about ten minutes later, bearing fresh coffees and a granola bar for her, along with a couple candy bars for him and the boys.

She looked up, meeting his eyes briefly, and his fingers brushed hers lightly as she accepted her coffee—and she almost dropped the cup at the surge of want that flared up inside her, her gaze locking with his. Just the brush of his fingers against hers and she was suddenly swamped with memories—his fingers on her, touching her, the length of him inside her, his hands on her hips, his hot gasping breaths against her neck. And she knew, just _knew_, that he was thinking the same thing. She felt herself blushing hotly. _Oh God… _

She was jerked back to reality as she heard Espo's hand drop to the table with a thunk. "Get _out_," he burst out. "You didn't—oh God, you did—when you and Castle both disappeared—"

Ryan had, of course, also looked up at Esposito's outburst, his gaze flying between both her and Castle, and the papers he'd been holding fell from his hands. "No, guys, really?" he blurted out. "Oh, come on!"

She yanked her gaze away from Castle's and tried to hide behind a file even as she also tried to look entirely normal and unaffected.

Castle dropped into his usual seat across from the table and picked up the victim's phone records he'd been looking at before, carefully—and noticeably—not looking at any of them.

"I can't even look at either of you right now," Espo grumbled. "If you do that again, I will shoot you both, got that?"

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ryan announced generally. "Where did you—no, never mind, I really really don't want to know. You can't do that _here_. This is—we're at work, for God's sake!"

Damn damn damn. She knew dragging Castle off like that had been a mistake. Even if no one else noticed, Ryan and Espo would since they knew about her and Castle. And they were detectives too. Oh lord, Ryan and Espo were never going to let either her or Castle hear the end of this—and yeah, Espo probably meant it when he said that he'd shoot them if they ever snuck off to have another quickie again. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said as calmly as she could manage, but she could feel the heat on her cheeks and knew she was blushing.

Castle—thank the merciful fates and her earlier threat—refrained from making any sort of response, bit back the quip she just _knew_ he wanted to make and also carefully kept up as much of a poker face as he could. She was probably the only person who could see the smirk fighting to break free, the barest hint of it tugging at the corners of his lips.

She studiously kept her gaze away from him, forcing herself to concentrate on the record of the victim's life. She sensed Espo's annoyance coming off him in waves and Ryan's increasing amusement but ignored them both until they both snapped back into work mode.

But a little while later, when Espo and Ryan both left, Espo to check on the status of the warrant they'd requested earlier and Ryan to take a phone call, she felt Castle's gaze on her and let herself meet his eyes.

He lifted his eyebrows slightly, his lips curving. And he didn't smirk. Or even grin smugly—well, okay, that wasn't true, he did look smug but not _that_ smug. He only gave her a small smile, his eyes alight with laughter and happiness and, yes, love and she felt something inside her melt. It was that boyish capacity for amusement and humor that was so much a part of him, the same sense of mischief that she loved in him, that brought so much joy to her own life, when she tended to get mired in the darkness and sadness that her job so often entailed. He made her so _happy_ and, looking at him now, she knew that she made him happy too.

And she suddenly couldn't regret any of it, her irrational jealousy, her embarrassment at Espo and Ryan catching on, even her rather uncharacteristic giving into impulse to claim Castle as hers in the most physical of ways. She had made him happy and _nothing_ mattered more to her than that.

She smiled back at him and knew he would see the truth of her thoughts in her eyes. _I love you too. _

And although this wasn't really the first time she'd had the thought, it felt somehow different, more true if that made any sense, at that moment, exchanging smiles with Castle over the table—she would love this man forever.

_~The End~_

_A/N 2: My first foray into "Castle" smut—feedback, please? _

_One more week until The Wedding! _


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